


Slyther

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Dominance, M/M, PWP, Submission, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom comes for the wealth and stays for other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slyther

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to abbeyjewel for the title~

He keens as he filled and whines when he’s tossed, bounced into the air with the water splashing all around him. Abraxas opens his mouth wide, gasps, lashes fluttering down over dilated silver eyes, his arms tightening around Tom’s shoulders, and Tom thinks, not for the first time, about _kissing_ him. That seems more intimate, somehow, and when Abraxas dips down to try and connect their lips, Tom turns his face away. He thrusts his hips up, cock sliding through the delicious heat of Abraxas’ velvet soft walls, and Abraxas forgets the slight in a lewd moan.

White-blond hair gathered up in a messy bun atop his head, Abraxas leans his forehead against the side of Tom’s. Soap bubbles streak his naked body, water making his pale skin shine in the light of the candles that line the room. The bath at Malfoy manor is something akin to a small pool. Tom leans back against the edge, one arm still stretched along the marble rim. It’s a signal that he’s done: it’s Abraxas’ turn to do all the work. 

For all Abraxas’ irritating qualities, his constant push to be on top of things—or at least appear that way—Abraxas is obedient to all of Tom’s whims. He braces his knees against the submerged seat Tom’s perched on, and he lifts himself up, tight rear sliding along Tom’s shaft. Then he shoves himself back down, arches forward, lifts off again and repeats the process. He rides Tom half with natural grace, half with forced skill—he knows, like all of them, that Tom’s attentions aren’t to be taken for granted. If Tom thought he could get a better fuck from one of his other followers, he’d be there instead.

With Abraxas, he can get a good fuck, a great bath, and just about anything money can buy. He’s already climbed far past the humble roots he started from, but money like _this_ is still a distant goal. Abraxas is the fast track. Tom shows up on the Malfoy doorstep, coos to Abraxas’ parents to present their son, and Abraxas draws Tom right inside with a broad grin, promising the world. 

Tom will have the world, someday, and he doesn’t need Abraxas’ help for it. But this entertainment will do in the meantime. Better than his own dark hovel, his own tub, his own hand. Abraxas fucks himself hard and cries out on every little touch, so _devoted_. His movements are quick but flowing, wholly erotic, voice breathy and nearly-hoarse, fingers daring to thread through Tom’s hair. Tom warns, “ _Abraxas_ ,” and his pet slinks back with a sullen pout, hands returning to Tom’s shoulders. Abraxas’ hips don’t slow. He behaves himself better from there on in, but within all the rules, he tries all the harder—clenches his taut rear and writhes against Tom’s chest, exaggerates his noises and moans Tom’s name beneath his breath. Most of it’s divine, the rest amusing. 

Tom reciprocates nothing. He enjoys the ride in his own controlled way, betraying no reactions. When Abraxas has made a show of riding Tom’s lap for nearly an hour—clearly tiring himself out in the process but stubbornly carrying the same antics on—Tom allows himself to uncoil. The heating charm on the water is dying down. He slips the hand on Abraxas’ waist down to grab a chunk of Abraxas’ ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and darts the other hand out to fist in Abraxas’ hair. He jerks Abraxas’ head back by it, eliciting a sharp cry of _pain_ , and that’s what really gets Tom off, what has his balls tightening and his cock spurting inside Abraxas’ stifling channel. He holds Abraxas down for it, filling him up, and keeps his pliant body bent on Tom’s cruel whim. Tom doesn’t bother to touch Abraxas’ cock in return, though he can feel it throbbing against his stomach. Perhaps Tom will let his toy finish sometime tonight, but only after he’s thoroughly proven his loyalty, and Tom’s had his own several rounds. 

When Tom finally frees Abraxas’ hair, Abraxas shivers, face falling forward and lust-clouded, as though _he_ were the one recovering from orgasm. He bites his bottom lip, works it between his teeth, then dons a begrudging look and lifts up, letting Tom’s cock slip out of him. He must know it’s over. He’s fulfilled his use. For now.

He looks at Tom through a fog of utter adoration, and Tom, in an odd moment of benevolence, takes him by the chin to lean him forward. Tom brushes their lips together but ends it before Abraxas’ tongue can reach him. Then he pushes Abraxas right off his lap, and Abraxas tumbles from the underwater bench, wading backwards. Most of the bubbles have already dissolved; those still clinging to Abraxas’ skin melt away.

Tom lounges back in place and idly decides, “I think I’d like some champagne.” He may as well have ordered it. Abraxas’ eyes flash, and he nods. He hesitates, then swims to the edge of the tub and climbs out. He passes a towel only peripherally over himself, and then Tom watches his naked rear retreat from the bathroom, leaking evidence down either thigh of just whom he belongs to. 

In his absence, Tom leans his head back against the brim, staring up at the ceiling’s pureblood Aryan mural, and wonders which other luxuries he’ll sample before he next brings Abraxas to his knees.


End file.
